


Heartbeat

by itstonedme



Category: Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-09
Updated: 2012-10-09
Packaged: 2017-11-15 22:42:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/532578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itstonedme/pseuds/itstonedme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Night time, Lothlorien, on the day in which Gandalf was lost to the Balrog.  Written for Orlijah_Month 2010.  First posted on LJ <a href="http://orlijah-month.livejournal.com/112768.html">here</a> with reader comments.  All respect to JRR.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heartbeat

It had been a long day, a day of tests. Some had been won, and others -- so sorely, others -- had been lost. Mysteries had surrounded them, and battles; flight had sewn itself to their heels, and because of it, they had won their hard escape. In his long life, Legolas had seen many days like it, but never had they been so desperate or wearing. Now, cradled within the bowers of Lothlorien, he took what succor he could from the songs of the night so that peace might once more find its claim upon his heart.

He had watched the Ringbearer arise from his nest of bedding and be drawn to Galadriel's pool. With eyes averted, he had climbed onto an embracing limb and turned his face towards the lights that danced above their rest, and wondered upon the paths that lay ahead.

In time, the Ringbearer had returned, vacant and heavy, climbing once more into the rooted cradle he shared with his companion. But slumber seemed to have abandoned the hobbit, for presently, he emerged restless once more into the night. From his perch, Legolas watched Frodo step carefully upon the earth beneath him, halting, starting, turning his gaze towards the lights, a devastating sadness erasing all colour and beauty from his face, and Legolas closed his eyes and wished grace upon such an innocent yet burdened creature. 

Frodo ventured not far, folding himself down onto the earth, his back to the trunk of a neighbouring tree, and with a sigh drawn from a fathomless depth, he hung his head, arms clasped about his knees, and grew very still. All around, small fires burned in distant encampments and the heated earth spun mist into the night as the air cried out the lament for one lost.

Time passed, and Frodo yet remained still, never issuing another sigh, nor giving any measure that he might even still be awake. But to the ears of an elf, his grief was clearly heard, and Legolas shifted from his branch and dropped silently onto the moss. 

"Frodo," he called softly, for the distance was short and he did not wish to frighten the hobbit.

Frodo looked up at the calling of his name and seeing Legolas so close, started. "Oh!" he uttered on caught breath, his hands falling to the earth.

"Forgive me for having startled you," Legolas said and lowered his gaze at his transgression.

Frodo tipped his head so that it rested against the gnarled bark and said wearily and small, "There is nothing that can make my unease any greater, Legolas. Your presence is welcome." 

For even on this most terrible of days, it was. Despite their short time travelling as one, it was the stillness of the elf among the many of their cohort in which Frodo found haven, for it was the elves that kept closest to their hearts those things of the earth that hobbits loved best. 

Legolas knelt on one knee, his eyes upon Frodo. He was not alone among their fellowship to have seen the darkness gathering within the Ringbearer, nor was he alone in wishing for the power to remove it. But he could only bring his stealth to their mission and his weapons; the burden of the Ring would remain Frodo's alone to bear.

"The dawn flies towards us far too quickly for you to pass the night without sleep," he said. "Would you wish me to sit by your bed and watch over you while you try to find rest?"

Frodo stared back without expression, weariness plain. "I fear to close my eyes because of what I see," he answered. "They will fall shut in their own time. Perhaps the dirge for Gandalf will ease their way." And at the mention of the wizard's name, Frodo turned away from Legolas, his eyes upon the forest's deep recesses, unblinking and shimmering.

"You tremble," Legolas said, and he stood and stepped forward. "Are you cold?"

Frodo shook his head. "Not cold, no."

Legolas came closer until he stood next to the hobbit. He crouched low and asked, "Are you frightened here within Lothlorien?"

Frodo turned to him. "The peril I feel is not within Galadriel's realm."

So small a creature, Legolas thought, so vast a vow taken in the House of Elrond. 

He slid his quiver to his shoulder so that he might sit and rest his back against the tree beside Frodo. "Come," he said, reaching his arm around the hobbit and tucking him to his chest. "Let me sit with you so that you might know for a time that the burden you carry is shared." As Frodo placed his head upon Legolas' breast, the elf reached to the chain at his nape and drew it back. "There is no need for the Ring to weigh so heavily while you rest," he murmured, and for a moment, Frodo felt a lightening, however small.

Perhaps because of the distant manner that Legolas bore, Frodo was at once astonished and soothed by the physical warmth that now embraced him. On this long quest, there had been few moments of comfort and safety that another being could offer. Nights had been long and cold, and from the moment they had departed Rivendell, a separateness had grown, even from his beloved Sam, towards the one who bore the Ring. 

Now, beneath his ear and through the soft suede of an elvish jerkin, Frodo felt more than heard the steadying ebb and flo of life tiding within Legolas. It spread into his own being: a rhythmic beat that seemed to slow as he lay against the warm chest, and his hand crept up so that he might feel it through his palm.

Legolas breathed ever more slowly. Soon, he felt the curl of small fingers play through the silk of his hair, stroking, as if the softness were a comfort, and he placed his hand upon it and held it close.

The lament drifted on the air, and Frodo closed his eyes and pondered that within this fearful, tragic day, he should yet find himself within the arms of a woodland prince, one whose heart drew his own to beat in sympathy. For a time, he gave himself over to its diminishing cadence so that all he eventually heard was the slowing rhythm of life, the comfort of another, and then there was nothing as sleep finally came upon him.

The moon moved through the trees as night made its way, and with time, Legolas felt the stillness hold Frodo fast and keep him. Quietly he shifted, scooping the slumbering form into his arms, and carried Frodo back to his bed. Laying him within the leaf litter and moss, he placed a hand upon his brow and bestowed a benediction in his own tongue for none to hear.

"Frodo!" Sam started, sitting upright at the sudden presence within their sanctuary; then, "Legolas" more softly at the hand held up to still him.

"Guard him well, Master Gamgee," Legolas whispered, "for his burden is heavy and he carries too much alone. You among all of us know his heart best; keep him close." 

He watched while Sam settled before he took his leave and returned to his perch. There, he bided his watch, the touch of a small, brave hand held within his memory until the stars met the dawn.


End file.
